your made-up crunched numbers will never crash
but where’s even the traces of a soulbank presence
for those surreal churned out only-supertide hits
or eyes at the least for glimpsing the everdawning
bland artificialities you procreated hard from poor
imaginations; but, all what

they have

is absolutely nothing to lose, just an endlessly
indelible soulshore still still in crudely roaring
ebb n tide destiny plays
taking in some tsunamis n bridal fullmoons often

last night, when we drove
in a windy suv, you broke out
sweedsudden
of your love
to accompanying grimly me in some other secretive mission
that was perhaps targeted against the gang you operated
and yet surprisingly …it not even took a second for eyes
in an awaited awoken mergence all at once
my vines wound around your pedestal chest
simmering cheeks in motion slided
settled in an unsaid equilibrium
on your warmth-radiating lap

but then, dream dissolves
inconclusive as usual
leaves an opaque painball deep in the eyecores
and an uncomfortable rheumy coldness
wetting lashy concaves
as they rub hard to stare
at tearing sunny reality

the tears stick around
the whole day as a glimmery shield
in washouts of blinding dusty intrusions

brimming as hot spring hopes often

until again dreamy darkness takes over:
mostly the fears and past in repetitive patterns
mixed enigmatic with hope and hidden sunrays
to be impossibly unraveled:
the future

neither the vastly nights nor the hidden lights maketh me to sustain

it’s the very focusing eyes
in daring holds of pain and tears and winds and dusts and chills and a flashing smile facing incidence: the now

p.s: the title was somehow inspired by milan kundera’s ,” The Unbearblae Lightness of Being” & its film version.

a massive brittle straw she lays in naked framework crawling craving fingers devoid of any fixtures vascular hollows are her body null of dreamy pithiness fractured branches of broken hairs wavering over her barren minds faintly heard arrhythmic beats of dying heart lifts up all against the pitch dark well lying in long abandonment of creepy haunts consuming her adjacent bodily leftovers like a thriving snow bud towards winter sun, she breathes in a reviving over his opulent moonface in full blooms of a magically receptive Pournami*, whatelse can prove more than this the spectacle of life, of love, of intimacy, of something still not in easy exploration this rare moonrise stands a cracking testimonial for this, her undying hope, their love